


Perspective

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Biting, Corruption, Enemies to Lovers, Extra Treat, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, cosmic horror, memory transference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16469798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Elias begins to see Martin in a different light.





	Perspective

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anafabula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anafabula/gifts).



When Martin first visited Elias in prison, he did not do so willingly. 

Peter had sent him, of course. Elias had been watching, and even if he had not, he would’ve known. It was just the sort of joke Peter liked most, forcing Martin to confront his own isolation, all while taunting Elias with the poor, nervous man who’d somehow managed to dislodge him. Truly, Elias would have to thank him. He lacked the hatred for surprise that Peter supposed. Not when the results were so intriguing. 

The room they met in was small, and Elias’s hands were shackled. Something he hoped to remedy in the future, but for now he was content, sitting across the table from Martin while a guard hovered outside. Martin’s gaze darted to the guard, then back to Elias.

“Already getting special treatment?” 

“Knowledge does have its perks. I expect you understand that better than most.” 

Martin’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Were Elias unable to see into his mind, he might have thought the restlessness was discomfort, an expression of his desire to be anywhere but here. But that was not the case at all. Inside Martin, he saw a hunger. He wanted to talk to Elias, wanted to question him. 

How fascinating. 

“I’m only here because Mr Lukas sent me, you know. If I never talked to you again, that’d be fine by me.” 

“Really, Martin.” He sighed in exaggerated disappointment. “I know Jon has always gone for self-delusion, but from our conversation, I’d thought you were a little more aware.”

Though his own face remained carefully blank, he noted the flinch at Jon’s name with pleasure. It was less of sore point than he’d thought, but Martin was hardly immune. Now, to push harder. 

“You didn’t think much of me at all, did you?” Martin said, voice cresting like it always did when emotion got the better of him

“And you used that to its fullest potential. Very clever of you. But then, lying your way into the Institute was also clever.” This time, he did let his pleasure show, lips curling into a small smile. “I knew there was something amiss, but I never guess how young you were, or how much of it was lies, and I never bothered to look.”

“So many people die, you’ll take just about anyone, won’t you?” 

Elias didn’t bother to correct him. After all, he wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“I think that you do have something you want to ask me. And I don’t need to see into your mind to know it. Already three weeks have passed, and Jon hasn’t woken up. You want to know how long it will continue.” He rested his cuffed wrist on the table. A calculated sign of vulnerability, a demonstration of the serpent defanged.

“And you’re not going to tell me.” Martin glanced down at the table, then back at Elias.

“What if I told you I didn’t know? As I told you before, Martin, I only have two eyes. For all my power, true omniscience is beyond me.” 

“Stop. Just stop. You like toying with people, but I’m not, I won’t let you do it, not now.” He shoved his chair back from the table, storming towards the door and hitting the button to alert the guard.

“I hope to see you soon,” Elias called after him. 

Of course Martin didn’t offer reply, striding down the corridor without a backwards glance. Now all there was to do was wait and see if he returned.

If he did, then Elias truly had underestimated him.

*

As Martin walked down the prison halls, Elias tracked his progress, marked the tension in his shoulders. Fear, of course, but not only fear, not any more. It was underlain by steely determination, and buried even deeper, a ravenous curiosity. When the door to the meeting room opened, his lips curled, and he let Martin see his pleasure, and savored the twin feelings of pride and disgust he received in response. 

Elias had never been so happy to be wrong. 

This time Elias made the opening salvo. “I’m delighted to see you’ve returned. I didn’t expect you. At least not so soon.”

Again Martin was wary, but his guard was down, even as he returned the volley. 

“You know more than you told me. About Jon. You might not be omniscient, but you weren’t surprised by Jon’s condition. And about…”

“The Rite of the Watcher’s Crown,” Elias finished for him. “Did Jon tell you? Or did you listen to the tapes?”

Martin didn’t answer, and Elias left him to his silence. 

“Why would I tell you anything about that, when you’re clearly trying to stop me? I know I’ve often been lax in the past, but I no longer have the time for leniency.”

Martin flinched, but pressed on. “You killed Gertrude over it.”

“Gertrude was a threat. I see no reason to believe you are.” 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Martin said. “You, you’re trying to make me angry. Why?”

“Oh, Martin,” Elias said, almost grinning with delight. “We’re both playing games here, aren’t we?” 

In his shabby jumper and unfashionable haircut, Martin was hardly the mirror of Elias in his youth. And yet underneath burned a similar intensity, a kindred spirit. Not since discovering Jon had he felt such a thrill. But Martin was cannier than Elias had been. Warier, and older. But far more desperate. For a moment he sunk back into memory, standing across from James Wright and meeting his cool, dark eyes. Taking his hand, and then—

“You want to tell me. Not everything. But Beholding, it’s not about hiding secrets, it’s about revealing them, isn’t it?” His hands clenched on the table, stiff to hide his nervousness, and well-hidden it was, only revealed in the telltale strands of doubt in his mind.

“Very well,” Elias said, sitting back in his chair, marking the way Martin leaned forward, a barely perceptible movement had Elias might have missed, had he not been watching for it. “Once, I was a young man, and a foolish one. I had few prospects, though unlike you, my degree was quite real. I applied to work at the Magnus Institute on a lark, encouraged by my friends. Not out of any desire for the job, of course. Just for the story, to catch a glimpse of the inner workings of the infamous Magnus Institute, and perhaps impress young men at the wild parties I frequented.”

Martin’s brows drew together at the last, and his eyes flicked up and down Elias’s body. Interesting. He’d thought the obsession with Jon ran too deep to exploit that avenue. 

“But you got the job and it turned out you were really cut out for scheduling the apocalypse,” Martin replied, with rather uncharacteristic snark. “I’m guessing you didn’t end up going to many parties after that.”

“Oh, I did,” Elias said. Today his hands were unshackled, thanks to some carefully applied pressure, allowing to place a single hand onto the table, palm up. “It was years before I took my place as the beating heart of the Magnus Institute, and as its head.” 

As he’d hoped, Martin mirrored the gesture, placing his own hand palm down next to it. Not touching, but not as distant as he wanted to seem.

“And that’s when you got the creepy powers. Makes sense, I guess. Because it’s you and the Archives that are really tied down. The rest of them, well. It’s just kind of a weird job, isn’t it?”

“Correct. Admittedly one with a higher than normal mortality rate, though I was trying to remedy that.”

“Can’t make a statement if you’re dead.”

“Indeed.” His hand inched closer to Martin’s. Martin did not shy away.

“So, what? You just wanted to give your little speech, tell me about how you were a normal person once, just like me?” He snorted. “You know, you’re not really all that impressive.”

“Bluster, Martin, is always a sloppy defense. I suggest you try something a little subtler in the future.” Elias withdrew his hand slowly, careful to brush against Martin before standing. He crossed the room to the far wall, out of sight of most passersby. The guard was gone, just as he’d ordered. And Martin followed, rubbing his hand, tongue whetted with the tantalizing hint of what was to come.

“I’m sorry if my conversational skills aren’t up to your exacting standards. I guess I never really got the chance to practice, what with trying to survive. Never really got invited to a lot of fancy parties, but then you know that, don’t you?” 

“Oh, I do.” Martin’s relationships were few and failed. He never went for the good men, the ones who’d make him happy. It wasn’t really what he wanted, in the end. How fortunate for Elias, that even before he hadn’t been good. 

He sidestepped Martin, herding him towards the wall, feeling rather like a creature of the Hunt. It wasn’t entirely unappealing. But then, he’d always tended to be far more active than some of his predecessors, and enjoyed the taste of blood on his lips. 

“What are you doing?” Martin said, backing away. 

Finally afraid, and showing it, the memory of Elias’s retribution still a bright pain in his mind. For a moment, Elias savored the fear, inhaling the piquant bouquet of it. But that was not why he was here. He cupped Martin’s jaw in a gentle hand, tracing the line of his cheekbone with a thumb. 

“Showing you. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

Before Martin could respond, Elias brought their lips close, and their minds closer. Martin opened under his touch, parting to allow Elias entrance. As he delved deeper into Martin, he brought forth the image of a young woman with steel in her spine, her dress unassuming, her gaze ever watchful. The vision shifted, and Elias drifted downward, digging his teeth into the vulnerable skin of Martin’s throat. The trap closed, and the woman shook a wrinkled hand, whose owner felt a thrill as she watched the young woman go, secure in the knowledge that she was—

Hands on his chest, and Martin shoved him away, sagging against the wall and gulping panicked breaths as he rubbed at the spot Elias had marked, a reminder carved into flesh. 

“Who—who was that? What did you, why did you—” He brought a hand to his lips, where Elias’s touch still lingered. “Was that, did you have to do that?”

“Not at all. But whatever you might think, I am not _only_ the beating heart of the Magnus Institute.” He stepped closer again, and Martin didn’t try to push him away.

“So you just did that?” His voice cracked, and he flushed. “Because you wanted to?”

“Yes, Martin. Though I fail to understand why that’s so hard to grasp.” In truth, much of his irritation was feigned. The blathering was at least partially defense, a stalling tactic, and a much better one than outright bluster. Questions got answers, information to use, to manipulate, and control. 

“And the woman?” he asked, letting his hand fall to his side. 

“Ah, that would be Gertrude Robinson. Always quite the firebrand, though she hid it well.”

“But you’re younger than Gertrude.” He frowned, weaving the threads together in his mind. “And that memory, it was different.” He looked up, meeting Elias’s eyes. “You weren’t the one to see that. And you didn’t, you didn’t watch either.”

“Entirely correct. Really, you’re doing quite well,” he said in the same indulgent tone he often used with Jon.

“So that woman…she was a head of the Institute before you? But you have her memories…”

Ah, and what memories she had, a brilliant woman, secure in her power. Choosing Gertrude had been a stroke of genius, if only she hadn’t rebelled. But the best ones never were the easiest to control. 

“Do you think our master would let knowledge be lost?” 

“So what, you just shove your mind into the next person?” 

“Nothing of the sort. Mind is immaterial. It is memory that matters, a more perfect memory than ordinary humans can ever achieve.”

“So you remember everything since, what? Jonah Magnus? Earlier?” He frowned. “You’ve seen what happened to Jon before.”

A knock at the door, just in time.

“Unfortunately, Martin, it seems our time is up.”

Elias held out his hands to be cuffed by the bored guard, all while Martin continued to watch him with increasingly keen eyes. He waited for the inevitable accusation, that he’d orchestrated this, down to the timing. But Martin remained silent. Really, it was exceptional how fast he was learning that there was often little point in speech, when it would only be stating the obvious.

Sadly for him, it was a lesson Elias had never bothered with himself.

“I’m so glad we finally see eye to eye.”

The door shut behind him before Martin could reply. 

*

Martin came a third time, and it was then Elias knew for certain he had chosen. Oh, it would take longer still for Martin to come to that conclusion himself. But when he looked back, he would see this moment, a firm knock on Elias’s door, his fury twined with equally furious desire.

Martin began to speak as soon as Elias opened the door.

“So you blackmailed your way out. Of course you did, you always have something, don’t you? Some contingency. I mean, I don’t even think I’m surprised?” he said, stepping across the threshold, already so sure of his welcome, or simply not caring if he had one. 

He really was a changed man. What a difference a few weeks, and a little push could make. 

But a man did not transform overnight, and Martin still had far to go. Confronted with the reality of the door shutting behind him, alone in the stately townhouse Elias had inherited long ago, he wavered, fear warring with the desire to see more. And another, guiltier desire still, lurking underneath the surface. One Elias was quite happy to indulge. 

Rather than reply, he placed a hand on the back on Martin’s neck, and brought their lips together again. This time, he didn’t bother with the memories. That would come later. Instead he simply savored Martin’s shock, and the way he leaned in despite it, hand coming up to press lightly against Elias’s waist. 

“You still don’t need to do that,” Martin said breathlessly when Elias pulled away, hand sliding down his arm to grasp his elbow and guide him forward. 

“You’re right.” Despite his earlier words, Martin put up no resistance as Elias guided him towards the bedroom. Elias found himself almost eager, not only at having discovered that Martin was far more than he seemed, but to experience this simple pleasure once again.

“Undress,” Elias said, as he began to remove his clothes and set them carefully on a plush green chair tucked in the corner. 

“What?” Martin’s hand toyed with the hem of his own shirt, a simple pullover. “You—you really expect me to just strip, and what?”

“Really, Martin, while I’m aware that your own sexual activities are few and far between, I didn’t think I’d need to spell it out for you.” 

Martin’s gaze wandered down his chest, halting on Elias’s hands, undoing his belt with deliberate grace. It was wonderful, to still be appreciated at his age, and Elias felt his cock twitch at Martin’s clear regard, and the flush blooming on the little skin he did have exposed.

“I came here because we didn’t finish last time,” Martin said, shaking his head. “Not to, not to sleep with you, whatever you think.” 

His voice barely shook. He really was getting better at this.

Elias turned his back to Martin briefly, removing the last of his clothes, letting Martin take in the view. Then he returned his own gaze to Martin, and smiled. “I see no reason we can’t do both. I’m a firm believer in efficient scheduling.”

“You’re, you know, you’re kind of sick. And I’m not even sure if it’s, if it’s Beholding, or just you.”

Elias approached, placed his own hand on Martin’s shirt, and tugged it over his head. 

“I imagine you’ll enjoy finding out.” He stepped back to sit on the bed, taking his half-hard cock in hand, and giving it a few lazy strokes, all while Martin stared. 

Something broke in Martin then, his curiosity, his loneliness, or simply his baser desires. Martin tore off his clothing, and scrambled onto the bed, all gangling limbs and eager terror. Flinging himself into danger yet again. 

Someday, Elias would take his time, and pull from Martin all he had disregarded before. But now he found himself far too impatient, thrilling at the novelty of the assignation. He kissed Martin again, their limbs tangling together, before reaching into the bedside drawer. 

Martin was no longer bothering to hide his longing, mouth slightly open as Elias slicked his fingers and set the small bottle aside, before applying it to his cock, all while Martin looked on, not touching himself, simply watching as his own cock slowly filled and grew. While in another time, Elias might have lingered more on preparation, he knew that Martin, while lacking in partners, had rather enough experience on his own. And more in the last few weeks, frantic and ashamed as his mind conjured their kiss, again and again. 

“Lie down.” 

As Elias had thought, he complied with little hesitation, making no sound but a stuttered moan as Elias dragged a hand over his cock, before lifting his legs, shifting him for the perfect angle. Part of Martin still believed this was for the information, but in his own mind, he didn’t deny that he found Elias alluring, found the danger appealing. Jon would likely have lost himself in delusions, but Martin had a clarity he lacked. Even if he went through the motions, the formalities that mimicked a similar denial, Martin understood. He’d wanted this. He’d asked for this. 

Elias pressed inside.

Slow at first, easing into his body, into his mind, opening him like a book, the lettering bright and clear in both their minds, though held in foreign hands. The text was Arabic, and though they didn’t understand a word, they understood it all, and far more beside. Martin gasped as Elias went deeper, gripping him in hand and heart and soul, bringing him to the revelation of what lay behind, and what yet would come. As he leaned into the feeling, he pulled Martin along, as easy as turning the page, mouth on his neck, teeth plunging deep into the still healing wound. When Martin cried out, it was pain mingled with ecstasy. This power always came at a price.

Elias set a steady rhythm, moving his mouth to Martin’s, tongue laced with his, murmuring the words they both saw, that filled them with a terrible hunger. Pages flicked past, and Elias wrapped a hand around Martin’s cock, flicking his wrist in turn. So much more than what they’d seen before, and promises of delving even farther, so much greater than their puny mortal forms. As Elias pressed deeper, he dug his fingers into Martin’s hips, inscribing the outline of what would someday come to pass, hunger made whole, with no darkness left that could not be penetrated. 

The book fell from their hands, and Martin groaned and shuddered beneath him, still so sensitive to this, the barest of glimpses, the lightest of touches. He painted their skin, and like the book, he fell, even as Elias continued to dig deeper, his mind stretching out, seeing and searching and showing what he could, rocking against Martin while he struggled for breath, wanting Elias to stop, wanting this never to end. 

“Someday,” Elias said into his skin, tongue laving the spot he’d marked before. His voice rougher than he’d realized, so long since he’d shared, and never like this. A promise for the future, one he hoped Martin would tuck deep in his chest, even as he thought he worked against their master. When the time came, Elias knew, he would follow willingly, and see what most others refused to even countenance. 

As the heat built in his groin, the tightening mirrored their fingers on the book, picking it up for one final page, one more secret contained within. Illuminated, the page spread before them, and Elias held still, staring into the Eye. In its service, they would build an Institute, to watch, to wait, to listen, until their time came.

And then he let go, of the memory, the Eye, all of it, clutching only hot, damp flesh as he came, holding but briefly before slipping free. Beneath him, Martin let out another small moan, come too early and sensitive from it, wrung out and wretched in its wake. A strange tenderness overcame him, and he brushed Martin’s hair from his sweat and tear damp face. 

“Even that is only the merest glimpse. Understand that I would show you more, but not tonight.” 

Martin took a breath, then another, finally finding the words. “That was Jonah Magnus, wasn’t it? That—that’s the book he got from Schwartzwald.” 

Elias settled next to him, pulling up the duvet before tugging Martin into his arms, lips ghosting over the darking bruise on his neck. 

“It was. You’re doing so well.” Another kiss, at the top of his spine. “And there’s so much more to show you, still. Once you’re ready.”

Tension coiled briefly under the arm Elias had wrapped around his chest. Part of Martin still thought, still planned to use this all against him, to stop the Rite, to save the world. He’d once thought he too could use the power for his own means, before he’d understood. They all had, but in the end, they all learned the truth. In time, Martin would as well. And if he surprised Elias again? There were always contingencies in place. 

For now, though, he pulled Martin closer, and held him tight. Best to make sure he wasn’t too lonely, after all, with Peter an ever looming presence. And it wasn’t like Elias didn’t enjoy it, this simple pleasure of a warm body next to his, and the slowing of his breath as he slipped into dreams.

Truly, they’d both gained a new perspective.


End file.
